


Impossible

by zelda_zee



Category: White Collar
Genre: Elizabeth Approves, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-07
Updated: 2010-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth's revelation leaves Peter confused and Neal scrambling for an explanation.</p><p>This picks up immediately after Lucky Man ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossible

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://halfdutch.livejournal.com/profile)[**halfdutch**](http://halfdutch.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

Neal’s staring in dismay at the door that leads from the rooftop; the door through which Elizabeth has just disappeared, after leaning down and giving Peter a kiss and instructing him not to come home until he’s _got this thing with Neal figured out_. It’s only Neal’s small remaining reservoir of pride that prevents him from running after her and begging her not to leave him alone with Peter.

For his part, Peter looks inexpressibly shocked, and oh God, Neal thinks, how could both he and Elizabeth have made such a huge mistake? They must have been drunk – well, he knows for a fact they were drunk – which doesn’t explain away the past seven years of Neal’s obsession, but it may explain why he sat there unresisting while Elizabeth gave Peter a succinct encapsulation of the relevant parts of their conversation, shushing him when he tried to protest and ignoring him when he questioned her sanity.

“I –” Neal starts, gesturing vaguely. He’s got some kind of prevarication in mind; blaming it on the alcohol or the unseasonably warm weather (heatstroke!); maybe he could make a case for temporary insanity brought on by the heartbreak of Kate’s rejection. Hell, he’s not above blaming it on Elizabeth, which is probably his best option, or claiming it was all meant as a joke, even if, as jokes go, it’s not a very good one. “Peter, I –“

“Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?” Peter asks. He sounds confused and a little angry and _very_ defensive, and Neal has the sudden and terrifying realization that if this situation blows up in his face he could actually find himself back behind bars. Somehow, he hadn’t actually considered that. That had always been a weakness of his – the failure to take into account the consequences of his actions. It had resulted in a lot of problems, including, but not limited to unwise romantic entanglements, four years in prison and the wearing of unfashionable ankle bracelets.

Neal swallows hard and squares his shoulders. It’s time to salvage the situation, if he can.

“Nooo. No, I really don’t.” Neal plasters his best innocent expression on his face, eyes wide, brows high. “No idea. Not a clue. When she came out with that, well –” He shrugs, trying not to wince as he throws Elizabeth under the bus. “You could have knocked me over with a feather.”

Peter’s eyes narrow and he looks at Neal with a penetrating expression that makes Neal feel far too exposed. “Now, why don’t I believe you?”

“Really, Peter, it was nothing. Just a few laughs, you know how it is. Elizabeth talking about how it felt like you were married to both of us during those years you were trying – and failing, I might add – to catch me. It was just a joke,” he laughs awkwardly, “that got a bit out of hand. I didn’t know how, uh – how far she was going to take it.”

“You think my wife giving me permission to – to – what the hell was she giving me permission to _do_ , exactly?” Peter asks in exasperated confusion.

“To have sex with me?” Neal supplies helpfully, then realizes a second later that that kind of helpfulness is not going to help convince Peter that he had nothing to do with it.

“Yes,” Peter says firmly. “ _That_. You think that is something to joke about? Because the idea that I would abuse my position in that way – with you or anyone else – is reprehensible to me. I don’t know what brought this up, or what you and Elizabeth talked about, but you don’t have to worry, Neal. I would never do that.”

“Oh.” Neal says, heart sinking down to his still-stylish JM Westons. “Well. Good. I mean, I never thought you would. Take advantage like that, I mean. Even if the person – if they wanted. No, of course you wouldn’t.”

“It would be wrong.” Peter’s watching Neal steadily and Neal feels pinned by his gaze. A blush colors his cheeks again and he inwardly curses his lack of control.

“Right.”

There’s a pause. A breeze blows Neal’s hair into his eyes, and he brushes it back. He glances up and catches Peter following his movement, before he quickly looks away.

“Anyway, I’m not gay,” Peter says, shifting in his seat.

“No. That’s – obvious.” Neal smiles weakly. “Married and all.”

“And I love my wife.”

Neal nods emphatically. “She’s a wonderful woman.”

“And you’re,” Peter’s eyes move over Neal’s face, drift downward, then abruptly up again. “A man.”

“It’s those keen observational skills that have gotten you where you are today,” Neal says, but Peter doesn’t seem to hear him.

“And you’re not gay either!” Peter exclaims, as if it just occurred to him.

“Not entirely, no.” Neal smiles. “But then you knew that, didn’t you, Agent Burke?”

Peter frowns at him. “I don’t make it my business to snoop into the sex lives of the criminals whose cases I work.”

“Don’t give me that! It’s relevant information. Snooping is what you do. It’s practically your entire job description.” On impulse Neal blurts. “Did you find the video?” He’d never been sure if he wanted Peter to come across that or not, wasn’t sure why they’d even made it at the time, or what he was thinking when he somehow managed to “lose” it. On the one hand, the idea of Peter watching it – getting off on it – had been the fuel of more than one fantasy over the years. On the other hand, that was not the way he wanted Peter to see him – on his knees, with some guy’s cock down his throat, Kate’s voice from behind the camera, urging him on. No, he wanted Peter to see him as an equal, a colleague who deserved the distinction of being Peter's partner. It was a stupid, pointless desire, but he wanted Peter to respect him, despite the fact that Neal knew that Peter didn’t respect people who broke the law, even if they were clever enough to elude him for years.

Peter doesn’t miss a beat. “Diana watched it. Said you were very – talented.” Peter’s eyes linger on Neal’s mouth, just for a second, just long enough to make Neal wonder if maybe he hadn’t sneaked a peek. “I don’t care about who you sleep with, Neal. Not unless it’s relevant to – to this.” He gestures back and forth between them.

Neal smiles, delighted, as two spots of color stain Peter’s cheeks. “What I mean to say,” Peter clarifies, “is that I don’t care unless it’s relevant to your case. Kate was relevant. Random guys on a video weren’t.”

“Guy, singular,” Neal corrects him. “There was only one guy in the video. I’m not a total slut, you know.”

Peter just raises his eyebrows, meeting Neal’s eyes with a surprisingly assessing look, but he says nothing. Neal feels heat sparking low in his body, nervous energy tingling outward into his extremities. They’re talking about Neal fucking guys, Neal in a sex tape, Neal being a slut and it’s turning him on. It’s _really_ turning him on. He hopes Peter doesn’t notice ( _he wants Peter to notice_ ). Oh, God, he’s so fucking confused and horny and there’s no way Peter would ever, ever want him, no fucking way he’d see Neal that way. It’s pathetic, really. There are so many superbly attractive, available men and women in the world, so many who wouldn’t care in the least about Neal's court-ordered jewelry. It makes no sense that Neal’s panting after this straight-arrow, moderately handsome, married Fed with a ridiculous overbite who, with a single word, could toss him back in the slammer if he makes a single misstep.

“I want to be very clear with you,” Peter says, and Neal’s attention snaps back to him. “I don’t want any misunderstanding about this. You need to disregard whatever Elizabeth said. _Nothing_ is happening between us, do you understand? You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Okay,” Neal says softly. “Thank you.” He’s fiddling with the tablecloth, folding a corner of it over and over.

Of course, Peter would see the possibility of there being anything between them as some sort of horrible moral lapse. Neal hadn’t even considered that angle, which, he supposes, should prove to him just how incompatible he and Peter are. Instead, he can’t shake the warm, pleasurable feeling it gives him to think of Peter wanting to protect him.

He raises his eyes and there’s an instantaneous connection, something that makes Neal’s breath come shallow, and his heart beat too fast. He’s never quite understood why he feels this way about Peter, but he thinks he does now. It’s because when Peter looks at him, he sees something beyond the pretty face and the winning smile, the slick talk and the sarcasm and the jokes that keep the world at arm’s length. The scary thing is, Neal doesn’t know what the hell Peter does see when he looks at him like he’s looking at him now. He doesn’t know, but he thinks he wants to find out.

“If you –” Neal starts, but his mouth is dry. He licks his lips and Peter’s gaze flicks down. “If you wanted – _that_ – though, Peter. I wouldn’t –” His voice drops to a whisper. “I really wouldn’t mind.”

Neal leans forward, wondering if he should he scoot his chair closer, if he should touch Peter, if doing either of those things will spook him. But before he can make up his mind, Peter’s eyes flutter shut as he takes a breath, and when he opens them he’s closed off and buttoned down again.

“We’re done talking about this,” he says, pushing his chair back and striding determinedly over to the door that leads into the stairwell. Escaping, Neal thinks. Running away.

“Peter!” Neal’s on his feet before he knows it, hurrying over to where Peter is about to descend the stairs. “Peter, wait!”

Peter freezes, hand on the doorknob, then slowly turns back toward him, and as soon as Neal sees his face he can tell that Peter knows exactly what he’s going to say.

“I lied,” Neal says. He’s breathing quick, though it was only a short distance between the table and the doorway and he didn’t even break into a run. “It wasn’t a joke. What Elizabeth said – we meant it. _I_ meant it. I want –”

Peter slaps his hand over Neal’s mouth, spins him around and slams him against the wall. He leans in close and Neal wants to arch against him, get some contact besides Peter’s palm pressed to his mouth and his hands gripping Peter’s arms.

“Shut _up_ , Neal,” Peter hisses. “For the love of God, don’t say _anything_. We can’t – I can’t –” He shakes his head in frustration. “This is not something we’re going to talk about.”

Peter lifts his hand away and Neal’s mouth feels bruised, swollen. His lips tingle distractingly. “Why not?” he says and it comes out breathier than he’d expected. “You scared?”

Peter looks at him incredulously. “Are you seriously trying to _dare_ me?”

“Would it work?”

“No!”

“Okay then – no.” They stay like that, just staring at each other, for a moment that’s too long, too fraught. This is it, Neal thinks. The moment that makes or breaks. “Peter –”

“No,” Peter says. “Shut up.” He tries to turn away, but Neal keeps ahold of his arms.

“Peter, please. It’s okay.”

Peter rounds on him at that, eyes blazing. “No, Neal, it is _not_ okay! It can never be okay! It’s _wrong_ , I don’t care what kind of crazy justifications you and my _wife_ have been concocting. God damn it, Neal.” Something breaks in Peter’s expression, and suddenly Neal can see everything that he’s been hiding. “Why do you have to be so –”

He doesn’t finish, can’t finish, because he’s kissing Neal, deep, dark, hungry kisses and Neal opens for him, draws him in, closer, closer, until Peter’s pressed up against him, and they’re fitted together so tightly that Neal can feel the rapid thump-thump of Peter’s heart against his chest, the twitch and rise of Peter’s cock against his hip.

Peter slides his hand into Neal’s hair, pulling just hard enough to make him moan. His other hand’s on the small of Neal’s back, fingers flirting with the waistband of Neal’s trousers, seemingly undecided if they want to slip down to palm the curve of his buttock, or inside to seek out bare skin.

They kiss until Neal is hot and shivering and pliable, mouth wide open, making hitching little groans around Peter’s tongue. Peter’s thigh is between his legs and it’s taking all of Neal’s will power not to hump it like a dog in heat. Neal gasps when Peter bites down on his bottom lip, pain and arousal jolting him hard. It’s an unexpectedly dominant move and it makes Neal ache to just give in and let Peter take what it would seem that he wants after all.

Peter mouths along his jaw line, teeth nipping, and Neal tilts his head back. “You know,” Peter says, his lips moving against Neal’s skin. “This is your fault.”

“Yeah, okay. Whatever you say. _Oh God_ ,” Neal groans as Peter finally slides his hand down over Neal’s ass, pushing his hips forward even more firmly, grinding Neal’s erect cock against Peter’s thigh. He hears Peter hiss, feels his breath gusting hot against his neck. His hands are clutching at Peter’s back, his hip, his shoulders, and Neal’s so close to just saying to hell with it, going down on his knees right here on June’s rooftop in the middle of the afternoon, with the chance of someone seeing from the buildings surrounding them or of June or Cindy walking in on them.

But he’s waited too long to settle for this. Hell, he’s waited too long for something - anything - good, anything better than the prison sex he’d learned to live with for the last four years. And Peter – he’s never even done this before. No, it has to be better than this.

“You have to stop. Peter, we have to stop,” Neal manages to grate out. He gets a firm grip on Peter’s shoulders and pushes him back. Peter’s eyes are wide and his hair’s mussed and he’s looking at Neal like he can’t believe he’s real, like maybe he’d forgotten where they were and who they were supposed to be – cop and criminal and all the rules of interaction they were supposed to follow within those roles. Dazedly, Peter rubs the back of his hand against his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Neal assures him. “I want this. Just –” He gestures around them. “Not here.”

Peter blinks and looks around him, then nods. “Yeah. Not here.”

“My room’s just inside,” Neal says, praying that Peter doesn’t decide he needs to go home and confer with Elizabeth first, because he really doesn’t think he can wait. “It’s got a lock on the door.” He kisses the corner of Peter’s mouth. “Curtains on the windows,” he breathes against Peter’s cheek, lips tickled by the stubble there. “And a big, big bed,” he whispers into Peter’s ear, enjoying the way he shivers at that.

“This is crazy,” Peter says. He shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge something. “I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

Peter’s lip twitches and his expression softens just a bit. “You know what I mean. This is so fucked up.”

“It’s not that fucked up,” Neal states. Peter gives him a look that Neal knows very well, the look that says that he’s well aware that Neal’s bullshitting him. “Okay,” Neal admits. “It’s a little fucked up.”

“More than a little.”

Neal rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to argue about how fucked up this is. I want it and I guess you want it too and clearly Elizabeth is the most awesome wife ever, so I think we should do it.”

“You _would_ think that, wouldn’t you, with your need for instant gratification. You would think we should jump right into this thing, even though we don’t know what the hell we’re doing –”

“ _You_ don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” Neal interrupts.

“Neither do you,” Peter insists. “You haven’t thought this through. And how do I know this? Because that’s how you operate. You fail to anticipate the ramifications of your actions. I’m not about to take some irrevocable step that could screw up my entire life - and yours too, by the way - just because –” He trails off, his hand coming up to Neal’s face, to his chin, thumb rubbing soft and slow over Neal’s lips. “Just because it’s something I want.”

“Peter –”

“I can’t. Not – not right now, not like this. I need time, Neal.”

Neal lets his head fall back with a groan. “All right.” What else is he going to say? He’s waited years already, never actually thought he’d get this close. Peter’s not saying no, Neal thinks. At least there’s that.

He gives Peter a sly look. “So I’m something that you want?”

Peter smiles. “What do you think?”

 _I think I’m something that you want_ , goes through Neal’s mind, but he doesn’t say it, just returns Peter’s smile.

A thought suddenly occurs to him. “Why do I have to be so what?”

“What?”

“You said, just before you kissed me, you said, 'Why do you have to be so'. What you were going to say?” When Peter doesn’t respond right away, Neal grins. It’s a shit-eating grin, but he thinks it’s justified. “So – irresistible? So – desirable? So devastatingly handsome?”

Peter’s got a little amused smile on his face. “I believe the word I was looking for was _impossible_.”

Neal leans in, holding Peter’s eyes. “To resist.”

“What?” Peter murmurs, but from the rapt way he’s looking at Neal, he thinks maybe Peter didn’t hear him at all.

“Impossible to resist,” Neal whispers.

His lips touch Peter’s, soft this time, slow and gentle, and Peter stands there and lets him. He slides his hand to the back of Peter’s neck and Peter tilts his head into it and kisses him back, letting Neal set the pace, letting him kiss sweet and slow, until Neal’s dizzy with it, and his whole body’s pulsing in time to the beat of his heart.

He can wait for this, Neal thinks, if it’s what Peter needs. He thinks he can. He’s pretty sure.

Peter’s right, he’s not good at delayed gratification, but when there’s a really big score, when the prize is something exquisite, something priceless, something that holds out the chance of being perfect, _then_ Neal knows how to wait. Those kinds of scores don’t come along very often, maybe once or twice in a career. But they’re always worth it, in the end.

  



End file.
